


Jewel

by VeryImpressive



Series: Jewel [1]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Drama & Romance, Drug lords, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mafia AU, Organized Crime, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14945180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImpressive/pseuds/VeryImpressive
Summary: “And what do I get?” Yoongi growled at him.A smirk slowly drifted onto his lips, “Me.”Tempting.[Mafia AU - Yoonmin]





	1. Prologue: Fuck

The night was still.

It was an odd feeling, an otherworldly feeling, in a city of eight million people.

Usually, when he had jobs that were involved in major world cities, the raw background noise of the population was enough to fade it out. It was enough to drive him towards his goal, to his success, and to add another mark to his resume.

But there was something different in the air.

Putting more of his focus into the scope, he began to the scan the building.

His orders were threefold:

Wait for Min Yoongi and Park Jimin to be in the same room together.

Kill them both.

If possible, make it appear they had spat that ended in violence, but the last order itself was optional, so long as  _neither_  of them left that apartment alive.  

All he had to do was wait - but if there was one thing Jung Hoseok was, it was patient. 

* * *

 

The last time that they were in a room together, they’d nearly killed each other.

In his darkest moments, when the depression really kicked him in the head, he liked to think that Yoongi had gone insane and run off into the mountains to join some religious cult. Of the many rumors to circulate around in the wake of his disappearance, that was Jimin’s most favorite. He had every confidence that word of the rumors had reached Yoongi’s ears, even though his father had essentially declared him persona non-grata, and the more morbidly curious side of him wondered what the other man made of them. Seemingly overnight, he’d gone from the favorite of the boss, his most prized producer and enforcer and distributor, to a stigmatized and marginalized example to the up and comers as to what not to become in a path of a career.

Jimin sent the usher a flirty smile as he helped him out of the full-length mink coat that he wore.

“He’s expecting me, _yes_?”

He damn well should’ve been, it had been his idea to have the meeting, it had been his idea to take the risk that was involved to even step foot in Korea. Granted, news of his father’s death would be published around the world, and perhaps Yoongi might have taken it as a sign that it was okay to finally come back. If that was true, Jimin wondered if Yoongi had perhaps become foolish in his exile. Min Yoongi had always been brilliant in whatever he did, whether it was creating the infrastructure that was required to produce drugs, the actual production of the drugs, the distribution of the supply, or the enforcement of order. If somewhere along the line, he’d lost his touch, Jimin idly wondered of what use he could possibly be.

Gently folding the coat over his arm, he nodded, “Master Yoongi is waiting for you in his penthouse.”

Jimin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

Times had indeed changed, there had been a time when referring to Yoongi as Master would earn a bullet to the head. It had long been said that if Asia’s underworld was the Earth, his family would be the star that it revolved around. The only reason that his father hadn’t had Yoongi taken out was out of respect for him. Being burned was another thing entirely, if you were burned by the head of the organization, and until you were redeemed, you were treated as nothing. It made certain thoughts of Yoongi’s foolishness arise in his mind again, and he had half a mind to investigate putting him out of his misery, once he had a clear read of him, once this tortuous business had finally concluded.

Setting foot in the open elevator, he eyed the key panel, and hesitated for a moment before selecting the number for Yoongi’s penthouse.

Only after the doors had securely closed did he release the breath that he’d been holding onto.

It wounded him deeply when Yoongi had left, deeper than any blow that any enemy could ever inflict on him for being Park Jihyuk’s son. That had been difficult enough, he was expected to be both a progeny of his father’s legacy, and both silent and obedient. His father founded, ran, and controlled the largest drug empire in the eastern hemisphere. Asia was under his family’s control, to do with what they wished, and to do business in the east, you had to have nothing less than the explicit blessing of Boss Jihyuk. Things had been that way since before he was born, and many thought that it would be many more years until they had to deal with a fundamental change in how the business itself was operated.

All of that was upended when his father passed away a month ago.

The truth was that Park Jihyuk was not a nice man, he never had been, he hadn’t been to his wife, to his whores, and certainly not to his only legitimate son. Years ago, he had gotten curious to see if his father had fathered anymore children. The army of private investigators that he had unleashed had uncovered three of them, three of them that were traceable. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Jimin knew that it might have been the right thing to do to inform his two half-sisters and half-brother that he had that their father was dead. The other half of him, the one that was both spiteful and forward thinking, decided against all of that.  

If the organization was willing to perpetuate the idea that the man was a good steward, who cared about his family and his legacy, then Jimin was willing to go along with it. He was willing to even perpetuate that little myth himself, on the caveat that his father’s loyal men, now _his_ loyal men, did not begin to ask any questions.

Anyone who decided that they would go poking around, anyone who thought that they would poke holes in his father’s cause of death, they would find that he could be just as ruthless as his father had been in his life.

His eyes drifted upwards at the counter at the top of the doorway as the lift drew closer and closer to its destination.

A bead of sweat drifted down his temple.

_Fuck._

He wasn’t ready for this.

* * *

 

“So, a heart attack?” Yoongi asked.

He took a deep drag off his cigarette, and slowly exhaled, marveling at the clearness of the night.

In his travels, in his exile, he’d been all over the world, but there was something about coming home that was special. Most people were the same, most people viewed their home with a special sort of significance that the next person might not see. It had been something to do with his exile, he was sure of that, and he wondered if now that he could be home without having a wave of hit squads coming after him, would he hold it with that same sort of reverence?

Maybe it was the way that he looked in all the lights, like something out of a movie, a vision of loveliness and sin that he always had been.

Time had taken nothing away from Park Jimin, in fact in those moments where he could stare at the other man unobstructed, he’d say time had been nothing but the kindest of friends to him.

Jimin nodded and took a sip out of his tumbler of scotch, “Yes.”

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man,” Yoongi rumbled and took another drag.

When Park Jihyuk died, there had been a split second, a single moment, when those around him encouraged him to return home, seize the throne, and right every wrong that had been inflicted to him over the years. In theory it had been possible, there were still those out there that considered Jimin less than his father – the only problem? Those people had never met him.

That was the genius of him, one group of people never saw beyond his physical attributes, and the other never saw beyond that insufferable subservience that he tended to serve to all outward observers in front of his father. There was only that small group of people that saw him for what he was and knew that there was no question as to who would succeed his father.

Yoongi had been one of those people since the first day that they’d met.

“Most resistance has been stamped out,” Jimin commented after a moment of silence had passed. “There are a few holdouts, but I’m toying with them until the time is right. Luckily, I’ve been preparing for this for _many_ years.”

Word on the street was that Jimin’s rule wasn’t entirely secure – that the outer fringes of his empire were uneasy, or that they were being undermined. That was part of the reason why he’d come back. Yoongi supposed that they sensed what they perceived to be weakness coming from the central source of power, and they figured that they had an edge that others didn’t have. He knew very well why they had poached him, but it made him wonder where his own leaks had come from.

He wondered if Jimin would be angry if he knew that in their time apart, he’d, little by little, seized control of most heroin production in Asia.

“Let’s get to the point,” Jimin turned to him suddenly, and Yoongi found the smaller man’s eyes blazing with ill-concealed fury. “Why are you back?”

Knowing the rules, he knew that he was taking quite a bit of risk without Jimin’s approval to return home, but he figured that with all the risks that he’d taken to rebuild his life in the years since his exile, it seemed almost paltry.

“You have the wolves at the door.” Yoongi replied.

Jimin rolled his eyes, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I mean, Jeon Jungkook is engineering a coup.”

For a moment, the other man seemed genuinely taken aback by the accusation. Yoongi knew that it was no accusation, no empty threat. Jungkook was a busy bee, perfecting his skills as a consummate schemer, and Jimin had to know.

“The little  _runt_  is trying to overthrow me?” Jimin sounded genuine.

Yoongi nodded, “He tried to convince me to get in on it – I told him no.”

As the seconds passed in silence, Yoongi could see the wheels turning in the other man’s head. He could see whatever ideas he had in his mind being chewed over with the aplomb that he’d come to expect. It was impossible to see all scenarios at once, even for someone like him, but he expected that Jimin was trying.

He watched as he turned and glared out at the cityscape.

“And why would he come to you? Besides the obvious?” He sounded guarded.

Yoongi couldn’t have that.

“Because, and I don’t know if you know this,” Yoongi took one step closer to him. “But I control most of the golden triangle, and I control most of the routes.”

He’d intended for it to just sit and let Jimin digest it.

The confession would have carried with it a lot of consequences had it come up when Jihyuk had been alive. For one thing, the fact that he controlled most of the heroin trade in Asia, and the fact that it had been kept a secret for such a long time, it probably would’ve earned him nothing short of a swift death sentence. Now, the odds were in his favor that he would escape it unscathed.

At least somewhat.

“How did I not know about this?” Jimin continued to sound guarded.

“I tried to make it seem as if the triangle was still fractured, but I control it from behind all of those groups, it’s mine, all of it,” Yoongi stabbed his cigarette against balustrade, and threw it over the edge without thought.

* * *

 

He was tempted to do it – to have Yoongi killed.

There was much that he found himself having to put up with over the years, his father’s cruelty, his station in life, people’s preconceptions about him. There was something in this though, the idea that he was competing with Yoongi of all people, it was driving him insane. Much of the product coming out of that region had been going elsewhere, had been going through the opposite routes. His father had always found it odd but was not willing to stir the pot in such a fragile location.

Now, at least, he understood why.

Jimin whirled on him – his chest heaving, his anger rapidly heading to the boiling point. He pointed a single finger at the man and stalked forward at him.

“Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

Yoongi scowled, “It was never against you, it was against your father.”

That got him to stop short, if ever there was a thing that could possibly accomplish something like that, to stop him in a fit of raw anger, it was that.

Yoongi couldn’t have said anything worse.

* * *

 

With a grunt, he swept all the crap sitting on the table, and lifted Jimin up onto it. Yoongi grasped the meat of Jimin’s right thigh with one hand, and kept his wrists bound together against the wall with the other. Part of him should have expected it to happen, he’d been horrible at resisting Jimin since the day he’d met.

“You asshole,” Jimin gasped, and smashed their lips together again.

It wasn’t even a kiss by conventional standards, it was a war, it was an expression of a torrent of emotions that were anything but romantic. Perhaps they were the result of a sort of clinical deprivation, craving for a long-missed fix.

There had been a time when the two of them couldn’t be in a room together without wanting to do what they were doing. From the moment he first saw him, there was something in Jimin’s very essence that drove Yoongi completely insane.

He could remember dragging him into bathrooms, broom closets, empty rooms, pushing into him without any preparation. It had felt like the closest thing to a biblical experience that he was sure he would ever experience in his entire life.

Yoongi groaned when Jimin’s tongue slipped into his mouth.

It had been the hardest thing that he had ever done in his life to leave him, to leave him in the clutches of his father without any support. Park Jihyuk had been a destructive force in the lives of everyone that he met, that included those who filled his pockets. There came a point where the level of control that he exercised over him, and even over Jimin, had become too much to bear, too much to witness.

He broke apart from their embrace, gasping for air, and pulled him closer.

“I miss you,” Yoongi groused into his ear.

Jimin’s head lulled to one said as he began to nip at nape his neck.

There was something comforting about the way his hands began to drift through his hair, gently rubbing and even scratching at his scalp.

“I want half,” Jimin moaned.

The proverbial brakes in his mind came to a halt.

For the life of him, throughout the entire process, that had never been an issue. It had taken many years to consolidate power. The things that he saw when he closed his eyes gave him quite a bit of pause, and it made the idea of giving up even a piece of what he’d fought for seem like something of an ill-begotten joke.

Yoongi pulled away from his perch at Jimin’s neck and forced him around.

Pressing their forehead’s together, he looked his former love in the eye.

As a matter of practicality, he knew that if Jimin wanted to make a play for the triangle, he could very well do so. Whether he would win or not remained to be seen, because he had very purposefully allowed the militias, the ones that occupied the various tracts of territory within the triangle, the ones that policed it in their own special ways, to flourish, and develop their own unique, and very violent methods of enforcing order in them.

“And what do I get?” Yoongi growled at him.

A smirk slowly drifted onto his lips, “Me.”

Tempting.

If there was ever a more tempting offer for him to consider, it would be that.

“And you get to come home,” As quickly as it had come, the smirk was gone, and now it was replaced by that more familiar, more vulnerable pursing of his lips.

Yoongi raised a brow, “I sense another term?”

As Jimin began to open his mouth, and undoubtedly began to spell out whatever terms he had left, a red dot appeared on the side of the next to his head.

He’d had a lot of experience with violence, with weapons, it was his trade, and it came with a certain amount of the territory. Laser markers for sniper-weapons were uncommon, and they were expensive, and most of the time, they were not practical, mostly to scare the victim. To encounter one was noteworthy, and something that the victim of the laser would talk about for the rest of their life if they survived the ordeal.

But he knew one when he saw one.

Without any real thought, he grasped at Jimin, and drove him safely, though roughly, to the floor, firmly out of the way of any of the bullets.

Yoongi knew what was coming next, and as he threw himself on top of Jimin, the bullets began to smash into the wall where they had just been, only one thought echoed through his mind.

He had no doubt that some very similar thoughts were going through Jimin’s mind, though he suspected that they’d be more violent.

As the torrent of glass rained down on them, Yoongi could only conceive one reality:

Someone would pay for this.

* * *

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He cursed and dropped his rifle.

He’d been told that he’d have one chance, one shot.

If he failed, then it would be quite some time before he would have another opportunity to fulfill the contract, and if he failed, the contract would go out to another hunter. The bounty would increase beyond his imagination, but it would be ten times as hard to try and fulfill it, because they were the most powerful figures in the underground. They were going to go to ground, keep themselves hidden.

And strike out with a vengeance.

“Fuck,” He repeated as he attempted to disassemble his weapon and run towards the door that would lead to the stairwell.

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 1: Peace was good for business

Peace was good for business.

It was the best lesson that his father could’ve ever imparted on him. When guns were drawn, and blood was spilled in the streets, the pressure made it hard to do business. When peace was the law of the land, product was able to move, and money flowed into their pockets.

Which was why Jimin was perplexed.

The Park Syndicate had governed the underworld under a system that vaguely resembled a democracy. So long as the lessor organizations paid fealty and tribute to his father, he had been more than willing to allow them to do business in Korea. After all, it was the cardinal rule, the rule that most organizations followed: peace was good for all their business.

Jimin hissed as the cotton swab doused with rubbing alcohol brushed against the cut on his upper right forearm.

“That stings like a bitch,” Jimin complained, watching the warehouse entrance.

“It hurts a lot less than an infection,” Changmin, his personal physician, chided.

He fixed his friend with a withering looking, while the other man fixed him with an equally amused stare. Sneering at him with one last look of petulance to save what face that he possibly could, he turned back towards the door when the expected ruckus finally arrived within earshot.

The sound of the warehouse door flying open, and the accompany screams, echoed throughout the empty complex from the ceiling to the floor. The flight from Yoongi’s penthouse had been exciting to say the least, especially with Yoongi’s promise of meeting him there with a gift. Now Jimin was going to get some answers to the most vulnerable night of his entire life.

Or absolution.

He would settle for that.

Lee Jaehee was the head of his select squad of bodyguards. Appointed by his father, he was congenial enough. He had never been overtly cruel or arrogant. His inabilities shown through though, and Jimin was very well aware of the fact that it was his family name keeping him safe, rather than the man that his father had appointed. Part of him knew that Jaehee couldn’t have been aware of the attempt on his life, that was the rational side of his mind.

But that wasn’t the point.

Shoved into the doorway, Jaehee was soon flanked by his former men who had now been given to Yoongi to command.

Slowly, they corralled him across the cement floor, all the way to the exact center of the warehouse. Inside of a large steel bucket sat a simple metal fold out chair.

Aside the bucket was a drum of what Jimin only assumed was gasoline.

Jimin almost pitied Jaehee for what was about to happen to him.

He might have been willing to intercede on the man’s behalf and overrule Yoongi if their security hadn’t been breached to the degree that it had been. If Jimin hadn’t had to handle the ordeal of a bullet smashing into the wall only inches from where his head had been, he might have been willing to forgive.

But he hadn’t.

Yoongi entered after the trio was in the building. Trailing after them like a predator, Jimin watched as the older slowly spun a suppression barrel onto the chrome plated gun in his right hand.

“It should be fine, _sir_ ,” Changmin teased, tightening the bandage around his arm.

Jimin spared him a glance. “Will I need stitches?”

“No, it looks a lot nastier than it actually is,” Changmin responded with a smile, but it slowly faded as he looked up to observe the scene. “I think that it would be best if I left now.”  

Jimin turned and had the audacity to gape, openly, at the sight. The two men were pushing and pulling him into the chair, with Jaehee struggling at every turn. His bodyguards ignored every protest, and slowly wound thick, heavy rope around Jaehee’s torso.

Suddenly Yoongi blocked their view, and Jimin noticed Changmin’s head swivel up to Yoongi out of the corner of his eye.

“I think it’s time that you left doctor,” Yoongi’s voice was rumbling.

It took on that grating tone, full of warning against any disobedience.

Jimin turned his head towards Changmin as he clipped up his first aid kit. Without making eye contact, he got to his feet and adjusted the strap of the case around his neck.

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Changmin bowed to them. “Yoongi, Jimin.”

Yoongi offered him a nod, and without another word of acknowledgement, Changmin practically _ran_ towards the exit. It was only after they were totally alone did Yoongi speak again.

His tone had not lessoned.

“It's your last chance to leave, love,” Yoongi warned.

Jimin brushed past the endearment, and he could practically feel his resolve hardening under his glare.

“I’m not going to miss this.”

Yoongi's lips dipped into a displeased frown, but he nodded nonetheless.

Loyal as always.

“Alright.”

* * *

 

Min Yoongi remembered Lee Jaehee.

When he had been made the head of Park Jihyuk’s security detail, Jae had been concurrently appointed the head of Jimin’s detail.

Yes, he remembered Jaehee very well. He remembered his total lack of vigilance in a position that demanded it. He remembered how the man lacked the resolve to do things that needed to be done in the name of securing the heads of the syndicate. Yoongi remembered how much he loathed Lee Jaehee, and he reveled in how much he would enjoy ending him.

He’d almost done it before he left.

Of course, back then, Jae enjoyed Jihyuk’s protection.

Now the boss wasn’t around to have his back anymore.

Now Jaehee had no one, and if he was being entirely frank, his more vindictive side was pleased with the fact that he now had Jaehee in a position to make his death more painful.

Jaehee glared up at him as he handed his gun to one of the men surrounding him, and reached into his left pants pocket for his cigarette case.

“Yoongi.” Jae said.

It was more of a statement than anything else.

“Jae,” Yoongi mocked.

Popping open the leather-bound case, he pulled one of the cigarettes out.

Slipping it back into his pocket, he looked to the man on Jae’s right.

“You got a light?” He asked.

The man grunted in affirmation and reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a cheap, plastic lighter.

Smiling, he accepted it and put the cigarette on his lips.

All the while, he kept his eyes on Jaehee. As he flicked the lighter and lit the cigarette, he noticed that Jaehee’s gaze had seemed to grow more and more dark and hateful.

Inhaling, and exhaling just as quickly, he handed the lighter back to the man without a word and smiled down at his captive.

“It’s been a long time,” Jae hissed. “I heard you went crazy, and that you were growing pot in the mountains.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Oh no, I’m perfectly sane.”

“So,” Jaehee turned his head slightly to give Jimin, who was standing behind him and slightly to his left, a withering glare. “I take it that the _boss_ finally has an excuse to rub me out?”

He felt his rage boil over, and with his cigarette perched between his lips, reached out for his gun.

Shoving it in Jaehee's face to drag his attention back to him and off Jimin, he trained it down to the underside of Jaehee’s chin and forced his head upwards into eye contact.

“Not so fast, eyes on me,” He commanded. “You know why you’re in the position you’re in?”

He seemed as dismissive as ever, as dismissive as he had been in the old days.

Yoongi wanted to pull the trigger.

“This is Seoul,” Jaehee said. “How was I supposed to know?” 

He pulled his gun back and took the cigarette out of his mouth to exhale.

Making a point of blowing the smoke into his face, Yoongi got closer. “That’s not the point, _hyung._ You allowed someone to threaten the boss, to threaten him here, in Seoul.”

Jaehee said nothing, which only served to infuriate him even more.

“Which means that you have undermined the business,” Yoongi felt his rage racing back to the top. “You’ve undermined the very hand the feeds you, and you, of all of us, know the punishment.”

It was the final punishment. Death was final, whatever lay beyond was a matter of debate, but the physical world was rid of someone entirely in their death.

And Yoongi couldn’t wait to rid himself, and Jimin, of Jaehee’s presence.

“Do you have anything to add, Jimin?” Yoongi pulled back and looked over his shoulder at the smaller man.

Jimin’s arms were folded across his chest and his face was the picture of pained neutrality. He could remember the days when he swore to _obliterate_ anything that ever put that expression on Jimin’s face.

The look that Jaehee sent Jimin was nothing short of spiteful, and it took all that he had to not finish him off, then and there.

“Are you participating in a coup?”

It was a flat question, and blunt accusation.

Yoongi looked back at Jaehee and kept his eyes trained careful on Jaehee’s face.

In his line of work, he’d found that the last few moments of life spelled out more of a person’s character than a relationship that lasted a lifetime ever could.

“My loyalty has always been to your family, to your father,” His voice was noticeably more subdued, but Yoongi could find no lie in his eyes.

But his words were more revealing than any lie he could have told.

Jimin.

Loyalty to Jimin.

He nodded to his men after motioning Jimin to step back, and turned to find his men pouring gasoline into the bucket.

It wasn’t a new method, he could admit that, and admittedly the more merciful version was to drown the victim in gasoline first.

But he wasn’t feeling merciful.

Looking back to Jimin, he sent him a pleading look.

“You don’t need to see this.”

There were darker aspects of this world that he had always tried to shield him from, and even though he understood that he’d failed in that regard, he didn’t have to contribute to it.

Jimin looked away from the scene, and even between Jaehee’s pleas, Yoongi could hear his voice as clearly as ever.

“Yes, I do.”

Letting out a noise of frustration, he sighed. “Fine.”

Turning away, he tossed the lit cigarette into the gasoline.

* * *

 Jaehee’s screams, and the smell of burning flesh, permeated the whole of the room.

Watching the man burn, watching the flame grow stronger, Jimin was momentarily surprised by his own sense of complacency. He knew that Yoongi, by his very reputation, was the baddest of the bad, but he was simply shocked by how unfazed he was by the sight of it.

The screams were finally silenced when Yoongi unloaded his gun into the burning mass that was once Lee Jaehee.

The first shot to the forehead silenced him forever.

The second shot to his chest was to finish him off entirely.

The third, to his crotch, was the final insult.

The pillar of flame kept growing, and the smell of charred flesh finally forced his stomach into a state of nausea.

Unable to stand the unforgettable smell, Jimin turned away to the exist.

Jaehee was dead, he had been punished.

But he was yet the first to fall.

There was work to be done.

* * *

Yoongi pushed against the door, and the cool brush of the night air hit him almost as fast as the sight of Jimin in his mink coat, barking orders into a cell phone, did.

“Just do it,” Jimin snapped.

He stood back and watched impassively as he began to trail back and forth behind the privacy of the motorcade that surrounded the entrance.

“I don’t give a shit,” His voice grew louder. “Joonie, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get them together by Monday. Tell them that I’m _ordering_ them here if they don’t listen.”

Jimin didn’t even wait for the other man’s reply before stabbing the screen of his phone and sliding it into his pocket.

Yoongi cleared his throat, and Jimin turned to him with wide eyes, almost as if he’d forgotten that Yoongi was there.

“Are we done here?” Jimin demanded.

Clearly, the dominance that he’d wielded inside of the warehouse had clearly changed hands. Before him was Park Jimin, boss of the Park Syndicate. All dolled up in fur and leather, he looked every bit the part of the most powerful drug baron in the eastern hemisphere he was. Under his blonde hair that was hanging messily over his forehead, his brown eyes were blazing with fury. 

And Yoongi was back to his customary perfunctory role as a weapon.

As wrath.

Yoongi nodded and sent him a wry smile.

“I doubt that Lee Jaehee will be back to impede your security.”

His men would dispose of Jaehee’s body when it was sufficiently destroyed.

Jimin, on the other hand, was clearly not amused by the turn of events. The fool had been dealt with, quickly and without any hint of mercy.

So that left the elephant in the room to be deal with.

“So, I take it that you’ll be going back to wherever you came from?” He asked.

Yoongi shrugged, “If you have no more use for me, I thought I’d go visit my parents, and then go back to where I came from.”

They both knew that there were no enforcers left in the organization that had the stomach to do what he just did. No one possessed quite the level of ruthlessness that he had just demonstrated. Aside from the fact that they had taken a shot at him too, he hoped that Jimin would invite him to stay.

His jewel.

Jimin inhaled deeply, and then nodded.

The silence that came upon them was a complementary to the stillness of the night as ever.

“Then, I suppose that I can’t convince you to stay?” Jimin broached.

* * *

 

The smile that came to Yoongi’s lips was a reminder of the past.

In it was the promise that he had always offered him. It had always been the treat, the carrot that the older man had dangled in front of him.

Yoongi cocked his head, “So, it’s war then?”

He understood the implication.

War was coming to their world. It was something that his father had taken great pains to avoid, but all those efforts had failed. In their part of the world, Yoongi was the only one whose power rivaled his own.

He controlled upwards of a quarter of the world’s heroin supply.

Someone had declared war on them _both_.

Jimin nodded.

“It’s war.”

Already his mind was moving, the gears were turning.

It had been a long time since this sort of thing had been conducted on their own soil, so Jimin knew that he had to tread carefully.

But it had to be waged.

“Can I take you home then?” Yoongi’s eyebrows rose into his hairline.

* * *

He kissed a straight line down the length of Jimin’s spine.

Jimin was nevermore gorgeous then he was when he was naked and totally relaxed.

He smirked and slowly made his way down the length of Jimin’s legs. When he was presented with the picture of his bare, magnificent ass, he stopped.

Tattooed on the fleshy peak of Jimin’s right ass cheek was a single word: _jewel_. He could remember the night Jimin had first presented it to him, the memory of his endless bitching still made him laugh.

_Jewel._

Seeing it there, it reminded him of those days. Seeing the tattoo had made him hard on sight back then.

Years separated, and it still had the same effect.

Sitting on the back of Jimin’s thighs, Yoongi stared down at the sight.

_Damn._

“I love that you didn’t get rid of it,” Yoongi said.

Jimin’s chest quaked with laughter, but it quickly turned to gasps as Yoongi lost the last shreds of his restraint.

“It was a pain in the ass to get,” Jimin gasped louder as Yoongi purposefully grazed the head of his cock on the rim of Jimin’s entrance.

Yoongi leaned down to press his full bodyweight down on Jimin and was careful to keep from pressing into him.

He still remembered what drove Jimin insane.

“And who else have you showed it off too?” Yoongi growled into his ear.

The question was quite simple. It might have been a little unreasonable for him to expect Jimin to be totally celibate in the years since they’d last been in the position they were in.

But fuck it, if it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Only y-you,” Jimin moaned as Yoongi pressed into his hole.

* * *

He still snored like an animal.

Jimin smiled fondly at the sight that Yoongi made. He looked almost innocent with half his face pressed into the pillow. It was almost as if his bedmate wasn’t the same man that had completely destroyed the pile of ash that people used to call Lee Jaehee only hours beforehand.

Pushing himself off of the mattress, Jimin took a moment to breathe, and once he was fully upwards, marveled in the soreness of his limbs.

All in the right places too.

Glancing down at the alarm clock on his bedside table, he noticed the time.

The ass crack of dawn.

Another sleepless night.

He turned away from the bed and approached the window, as bare as the day he was born.

Jimin pushed past the curtains and observed the sunrise, it was barely over the horizon – but there was no mistaking the red haze that drifted in the sky. 

He scowled.

Omens were peculiar things.

* * *

 

 


	3. Chapter 2: Murder has no rules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff here -- so happy for it to be finished. 
> 
> Hope you like it!

_Exile._

_All things considered, it could’ve ended with him in a far worse position. If he was being honest, he had been sure that he would be leaving the room with a bullet in his skull._

_“You have one day,” Namjoon told him._

_Yoongi nodded absently._

_He knew how much time he had left. Often, he had been tasked with enforcing that twenty-four-hour edict that Jihyuk was so fond of enforcing on those that he exiled._

_After a day, if he was still on Korean soil, if he didn’t disappear, he was a dead man._

_Not that he feared the people that would be sent to hunt him down, Yoongi had trained most of them. What he feared was them coming in numbers, that was where they could find an advantage._

_He supposed that he had to his blessings. After all that he’d done, Jihyuk had seen fit to reward him with survival – with leaving with his life. He was willing to test the boundaries of Jihyuk’s mercy, not yet – not until some of the dust had settled around him._

_It wouldn’t be too hard to leave the country on such short notice anyway._

_Whatever biologically tied him down had been long since flushed away by poverty and obscurity_

_He would miss the few people that he considered genuine friends. Most of all, he would miss Jimin, but he’d known that it was always going to happen. It was a position that he wouldn’t regret being in, that he frankly couldn’t regret being in._

_Joonie handed him a small business card as a silence drifted over the ballroom._

_Looking down, he flipped the card to its backside and looked at the address scrawled on it._

_When it finally dawned on him, Yoongi let out a resigned sigh and shook his head, offering the card back._

_“No,” Yoongi shook his head harder. “I can’t do that to you.”_

_Namjoon pushed his hand. “Half of it was yours anyway, consider it a gift.”_

_As the right and left hands of Park Jihyuk, they were given blanket permission to do whatever they wanted. They answered to one man, and that man didn’t even remotely resemble society’s idea paragon of virtue._

_Robbing banks was not a pastime for the faint of heart, but the reputation that they both earned had been forged in that insane summer. That four months where they knocked off more banks and armored trucks than they could count was the stuff of legend._

_“You want to retire from this shit one day,” Yoongi said._

_“One day,” Joonie retorted. “But I’ve got plenty of time, and plenty of opportunity.”_

_There was more than enough money in that vault to allow someone to never work another day in their natural life, perhaps two or three people. Not that Yoongi was in a rush to retire from it himself, because he still had plenty of fun doing it._

_Perhaps that was why he was good at it, arguably the best._

_After another insistent gesture from Joonie, Yoongi sighed and stuck the card in his pocket._

_The money would help him, at the very least._

_“I know the rules,” Yoongi lowered his gaze to the polished floor. “But would you keep an eye on Jimin for me?”_

_He was a refreshing soul, Park Jimin, a soul that was far too kind for the world that they lived in. Jimin could’ve been anything else, anything else in the entire world and he’d succeed in it. He simply had the misfortune of being the son of Park Jihyuk and was therefore condemned to live in his shadow._

_But Yoongi knew from the first time that they kissed that not even the mighty Park Jihyuk would be able to prevent them from being together._

_Yoongi turned to eye him._

_What he knew to be true was that Namjoon was no more in love with Jihyuk than he was. They were brothers in all but name, in all but genetics, and Jihyuk had treated them the same at the end of the day._

_Joon nodded after a moment._

_“There’s a letter in the desk in my room at the estate,” Yoongi said. “Top drawer, right hand side, can you make sure that it gets to him?”_

_Everything that he needed to know, everything that he could know, was spelled out._

_“Yeah,” He said. “Yeah, I will.”_

_That was what mattered the most throughout the entire ordeal. Jimin and his father were not the closest people in the world. It would not be an understatement to claim that Jihyuk might have disposed of him years ago if he didn’t view him as a thing._

_As his property._

_Yoongi supposed that it would be the closest thing to fatherly affection that Park Jihyuk could mange for his child._

_Jimin was as strong as a human being possibly could be in his position._

_He wanted him to have support to lean on – especially in contention with his father._

_“One day,” Joon said, turning on his heels and bringing his back to face the window. “If you have anything else, just give me a call, but I need to know in one day.”_

_He bit back his first urge to snap at him. He was Min Yoongi, he knew the fucking rules of engagement. It was the reality of the situation that brought him back down to Earth._

_This could very well by the last time that he saw Kim Namjoon. It could be the last time that he ever saw foot in Seoul._

_Almost as the thought occurred to him, he stilled when Namjoon reached out to pull him forward. His oldest friend pulled him into a tight, bone crushing him that somehow managed to get tighter and tighter as the seconds past._

_“I love you, man.” Joon sniffled._

_Yoongi chuckled and relaxed in his embrace. “You too.”_

_It was often said that Joon was the softer version of himself, it certainly had its merits. Joon was a big softy behind the veneer, and Yoongi somehow knew that he’d react like this._

_They had grown up together, depended on each other, they were still alive because of each other._

_“I’ll take of junior,” Joon promised._

_Yoongi patted him on the back and laughed openly as Joonie pulled him back in._

_“And you,” He added. “Stay alive.”_

_“I intend to,” Yoongi promised._

_All his life he’d been surviving – this would be no different._

* * *

The birds were singing.

Life had been a process for him, something that had its highs and lows. Some of the time it had a habit of kicking him in the balls, and other times – it made it up for it in spades. _This_ moment was one of those times that Yoongi had come to utterly relish.

Park Jihyuk had once promised him that he would never set foot on the grounds of the estate ever again. He would never drink coffee on the veranda again, and he would never, _ever_ bask in its luxuries.

If he tried, he would be executed.

“Kim Namjoon is at the gate,” Hyun Bin announced – and Yoongi inwardly cursed at the _timing_ of the boy. It was amazing, his timing – _just_ as he was able to sit back in the chair and drink his coffee. “Is he allowed?”

Yoongi didn’t say anything, at first.

A part of him was taking a bit of sadistic delight in sitting in Jihyuk’s favorite breakfast chair. He might have found himself wiggling in the chair with a little extra fervor. The old man used to go _on and on_ about how it was strategically placed to see the view.

It provided a perfect outlook on the city.

Jihyuk usually spent every morning sitting on it like a throne, like a petty noble looking down on his fiefdom. That was how Jihyuk viewed Seoul, like it belonged to him.

It really did – in many ways.

“Sir?” Hyun Bin pressed.

Yoongi sighed and set his coffee mug down on the mesh table beside him – and he idly reflected if Jihyuk had slipped in his hiring processes before he met his end.

He made a show of taking a deep breath in and giving the boy a patient look.

“You know who he is right?” Yoongi asked him.

Hyun Bin lowered his eyes. “I apologize, I was simply told to verify _everything_ through you?”

“There are certain people within the organization that you don’t have to do that for,” Yoongi didn’t break eye contact. “Three people, to be exact, Jimin, Joonie, and _myself_.”

Really, how difficult was the concept?

The kid nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Yoongi waved him away, blowing out a sigh, choosing not to work himself up over the issue anymore.

He wasn’t getting along well, because when he’d thrived in it, it was run a certain way. As egotistical as it might have sounded, Yoongi was beginning to think that what changed in the equation was _him_. Everything was preset for the proper show of force, but what was missing was someone that was willing to go to whatever distance was needed.

Joonie was something – perhaps enough to _subside_ , but he didn’t have _it_.

Picking his coffee mug back up, he took a defiant sip, and looked back to the view.

It was time to right a few wrongs.

* * *

“We’re looking into it,” Joon groused at him. “The bullets were incredibly common, they’re sold at retail in every corner of the world. What we’ve decided to focus on are the players that were in the city last night – my people are drawing up the list.”

It was difficult to fathom the guts on a hired gun that was willing to take a shot at the head of the Park Syndicate in Seoul.

Yoongi might have _respected_ it, or least he might have found it within himself to not _dislike_ the man, if the head of the organization wasn’t Jimin.

“Put out a bounty,” Yoongi ordered. “Double it, if they give him to us alive.”

Joon turned in mid-sip and arched a brow. “Oh, so you’re back in the saddle – _so to speak_?”

The scowl that settled onto his face at Namjoon’s grin was almost forced.

“Jaehee had a little accident last night.”

“I heard,” Namjoon chuckled. “Rumor has it that he tied himself up, doused himself in gasoline, set himself on fire, and then shot himself in the head, _three_ times.”

Yoongi shrugged indifferently, keeping his face perfectly neutral.

Because really, if the shoe had been on the other foot, he didn’t doubt that Jaehee would pay him the same disrespect.

“He was always clumsy.”

“You’re in rare form,” Joon continued to laugh, and Yoongi found himself laughing along. “I bet you scared the ever-loving shit out of these new kids.”

Park Jihyuk had been many things in life, a lot of them were excuse enough to never pay the man the slightest positive thought. From a certain point of view, his professional advice managed to fall underneath the category.

To Namjoon, _to him_ , that advice had been something that was drilled into their skulls from day one.

From the day that they were taken in, there had been a single, _fundamental_ rule that had been emphasized. They were four simple words that when strung together, and boiled down to the meat, measured success, and even _failure_ , in their world.

_Murder has no rules._

Their world had been cast under a cloak of glamour. A lot of these new initiates, at least since he’d been around them, seemed to think that it was the life that the movies portrayed it to be.

It was a vision that was hopelessly naïve, and to treat their world as if it existed in a film, as if it were a playground, would only end in choking mediocrity.

If these kids did not have the stomach to do to their enemies what he did to Lee Jaehee, then they would fail at this, completely.

Yoongi would set upon himself the task of reintroducing that fundamental law of nature.

“Murder has no rules,” Namjoon raised his coffee mug in a mock salute. “To the old man.”

“To our new boss,” Yoongi toasted, bringing his mug up.

Both men took exaggerated sips – and broke off in laughter.

“Speak of the devil,” Joonie told him.

Yoongi felt his back tense when Joonie’s eyes drifted behind them.

Turning in his chair, he found his breathing stop for a moment.

Blue, silk robe open in the front and flowing elegantly around him – and with only a pair of tight briefs to protect his dignity, Park Jimin’s slim body was gloriously exposed.

With a light sway to his hips, Jimin ran a hand through his messy black hair.

All the while, a smile was on his lips.

Yoongi was distracted by the _bounce_ of Jimin’s thighs as the smaller man sat himself down in his lap.

“Hi Joonie-hyung,” Jimin greeted the other man pleasantly – putting his arm around Yoongi’s neck. “I’m happy that you decided to show up for a meeting on time.”

Joon sent him a withering look.

“You don’t seem ready for a meeting?”

Yoongi wrapped his arm around Jimin’s waist, pulling him in.

“I’ll have you know that this is my house,” Jimin whined playfully. “The meeting will start when I’m ready for it to start.”

Namjoon reached for the coffee pot sitting on the table between them, and he made a show of silently filling his mug to the brim.

All the while, a smile was breaking out over his face.

“You’re in a much better mood than you were yesterday,” He observed, a grin stretching out on his lips. “What got into you?”

Yoongi turned to glare at him.

“Yoongi-hyung here, he was always good at helping me relive my tension.”

Namjoon gave him a flat look.

“He must have spent all night relieving your tension?”

Jimin grinned. “You have no idea.”

* * *

They were his father’s dogs.

Though that was a sentiment that the man was careful to keep to himself, Jimin wondered if those men would still show the same blind loyalty to him if they knew just how low they ranked with him. In truth, he only held great esteem for the original twelve men that came to convene at his dining room table, when he was first getting the organization off the ground. In the years that followed, whether it was death or law that claimed them, the original twelve of his kitchen table were slowly filtered out – and so went the quaint colloquial with it.

As he matured, and the organization spread its wings – the twelve men of his kitchen table became the twelve men of his _high table_ ; and they were all powerful.

They were his eyes and ears, effectively all powerful in their domains – save for sole fact that they answered to Park Jihyuk, and Park Jihyuk alone. That was the eternal struggle that his father faced, asserting his “dominance over his pack” of dogs. If the events of the night before were any indication, he supposed that it was now his task to assert himself.

“I must admit that I’m not happy to see familiar faces,” Yoongi quipped.

Jimin smoothed down the breast of his jacket, slowly, deliberately inspecting himself.

“Father was a light touch near the end,” Jimin answered quietly, smoothing a stray stand of hair off his forehead. “I made it clear that I wouldn’t show the same mercy.”

The spectacle that Yoongi was capable of producing was weighing heavily on him, just as he’d known it would, even if he hadn’t quite been able to admit it to himself at the moment.

Since Yoongi’s absence, there was a distinct lack of terror within the organization – something that his father had tried, in vain, to replicate. He’d built everything on his ability to strongarm his opponents out of the game, and to have his way with so-called law-enforcement.

To this day, there were some segments of the population that cowed at the mention of his name. He would be willing to _distantly_ admit that he didn’t have the same willingness that his father had to stoop to any low – but he had the drive, and with Yoongi, he had the might.

“I might have made the subtle implication that their lives were now in a perpetual state of danger,” Yoongi told him, amusement obvious in his features. “Maybe from me.”

Jimin’s eyes crossed to his in the mirror. “And Jungkook?”

“He’s not here yet,” Yoongi replied.

Saying nothing, Jimin returned his gaze to his reflection.

In his moments of self-doubt, where he wondered if he should’ve followed the advice of his more reputable friends, he openly wondered what his life might’ve been if he’d gone to university. Studying for a life in civil service, or for academia, or legitimate business, _something_ nice. Boring, and assuredly plodding, but all around safe – the only upside of it. In another life, Jimin might have been quite content with leading such a life.

There was the other extreme though – resting on his laurels, living the life of a privileged heir. He could have material goods, men, cars, homes, drugs, _whatever_ he wanted at a mere whim. That too was something that he might have been content to accept in another life – but it never called to him, spending the money never appealed.

_Oh, the irony._

He supposed that the only thing that he ever really had distinctly in common with his father was the fact that they were creatures that were made to dominate. They thrived, flourished and even enjoyed the environment where they were forced to push the load up the mountain. They were machines that were built to conquer, to unquestionably dominate their surroundings – they were _not_ made to sit still and rest.

“Keep an eye on him,” Jimin looked up to Yoongi in the mirror. “ _Chat_ with him.”

Yoongi offered him a small smile and came across the length of his bedroom to stand directly behind him. For a moment, he felt his breath still and _stop_ – and Jimin flashed back to a more idyllic time in his life when they were in a similar position.

It seemed almost surreal that they were back where they started, except for the fact that they had no obstacles. His father was dead, Jimin knew that – he’d been right next to him when it _happened_ , and with Jihyuk’s death – they had no impediment.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a ticking time bomb.

Feeling the older man’s arms snake around his front, and pull him backwards, Jimin grinned as Yoongi laid his forehead down on his shoulder, despite himself.

“I intend to do just that,” Yoongi promised quietly.

* * *

 

It resembled more of a bunker than a dining room table.

Jungkook had been to more than enough of these meetings to know that the estate bore two dining rooms. The first dining room was _the_ dining room, the room where the boss entertained his guests. He ate supper there, he brooded over his empire in that room, he flaunted everything that he possessed to all that came to pay tribute there. They, of course, met in the _secondary_ dining room – the official-unofficial one.

It was where they came to confer with him.

The long, sleek, wooden rectangular table sat in the center of the room. With six identical high-backed chairs on either side, it was not an accident that the lone chair at the north end of the table was just a _tad_ bigger. All around them, the room screamed with the sinister purpose of pure intimidation. With no decoration to speak of, and no windows, the walls were coated with a bleak off-colored egg-shell white paint. Above the table, an elegant chandelier – one that was off-set and lit by painful fluorescent bulbs. Jihyuk had designed the room down to the smallest detail – and the idea of his high table gathered at his home with any other purpose than business wasn’t an option.

Upon being shepherded through the main gates, they were sent to this room with the clear intent being the conveyance of the message that they were all subservient to him. Jihyuk was king, Jihyuk was their unquestioned master and he took that in stride.

Looking around, Jungkook took in his comrades.

Directly across from him was _of course_ Taehyung – the second youngest among the high table. Having, before him, been the youngest to ever be invited – he had secured his position by killing his traitorous predecessor, who’d made the mistake of being sloppy when skimming profits off the top of Jihyuk’s loansharking racket.

It was tradition, in a way, for members of the high table to kill their predecessors, when they could.

At the far end of the table, on either side of the bosses’ chair, Kwon Jiyong and Choi Seunghyun.

Jiyong, chatting with Seunghyun from across the table, wore a bored expression on his face, wasn’t dressed, as much as he was _ensconced_ in a three-sizes too big dress shirt. Seunghyun, dressed to perfection in a designer suit, as usual seemed to be eerily calm.

Seunghyun, who was the oldest of them all, and the longest surviving since the original twelve, had been Jihyuk’s unspoken favorite – something that he was loathed for.

By far the most influential of all of them, Jungkook had been careful to avoid them. Those two would never betray the man that sat in the chair between them.

Between himself and Jiyong sat Kim Seokjin, Dong Yongbae, Do Kyungsoo and Park Chanyeol. On the other side of the table, between Seunghyun and Taehyung, sat Kang Daesung, Kim Jongdae, Byun Baekhyun and Lee Seunghyun.

Together, they were the high table, the most powerful group in the eastern hemisphere.

What ten of them were not sure of was the fact that two of them were plotting.

There was always a plot – that the was the nature of the beast that he was promoted up into. Plotting, backstabbing, back talking, the very job description of a member of the high table was to outfox and outthink all of those that would lay claim to your seat from outside the table and undermine your influence from within the table.

Jungkook shared a brief look with Taehyung but said nothing.

Then it happened as suddenly as they had all been herded into the room.

For Jungkook, he had never quite grasped why Jihyuk had, at the very least, a serve distaste for his son. Jimin had never struck him as assuming. When one first enters the organization, tales of indolence and unabashed indulgence are to be expected. Park Jimin was the flesh and blood of the boss – there was a sort of caricature that had lodged itself in Jungkook’s head by all the second and third-party tales that he’d heard about Jimin. When he finally was delivered to the higher bands of power and was exposed to the cloistered scion of Park Jihyuk, they simply weren’t true.

But that had been while his father was _alive_.

When Jihyuk died, the mask _fell_ – and Jungkook was finally able to see what lay beneath the veneer of that well-mannered, if quiet, and outright _meek_ , individual.  

Park Jimin had lived the patient existence of an agitator, and when the time came – he reached out with all his might, might that he’d gathered _under cover of darkness,_ and choked the life out of any attempt from the outside seizure of his father’s throne.

It was brilliant.

It was utterly _aggravating_.

But with all schemers, with all agitators, they met their end quicker than most.

Jungkook found himself, along with his eleven compatriots, standing as _they_ entered the suffocating room. Flanked by Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi – Jimin glided forward, forward towards his father’s chair, as if he’d been waiting his entire life for it.

He probably had.

And Jungkook had to clamp down on the rage that boiled within him at the sight.

Dressed in a form-fitting, all-black suit, Jimin’s hair was slicked back, not a hair out of place. His eyes were keenly focused on them all, with his lips set in a near-speculative purse.

Much as how his father had dressed during these meetings.

When their diminutive leader gave them his thanks, it was taken as his unspoken permission for them to sit. It was an opportunity that Jungkook was all too eager to take him up on, because it was the sole route for him to channel his fury through without being seen.

“Suga,” Seunghyun observed from the front right seat – and Jungkook’s gaze flittered to the most senior of them all. The look of fondness in the perpetually stoic Seunghyun’s eyes brought the bile rising into his throat. “We’d heard you were back.”

Yoongi nodded and offered him his own smile. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Yes, yes, it’s true,” Jimin interceded lightly. “Yoongi has returned from his _absence_. If anyone at this table has an issue with it – now would be the best time to make it known to us.”

The pronouncement, a not-so subtle threat, was punctuated by Jimin turning to give Yoongi a small look, who in turn put his hands on his hips. In the process, his jacket was pulled back on his right side to reveal a gun to the group, holstered securely.

The implication was obvious.

“I would take the time to remind our younger members that Yoongi’s heat with my father was with him, _alone_ ,” Jimin took the time to look at each one of them. His gaze was piercing, intense and set. “Yoongi’s sentence ended with my father’s _unfortunate_ death.”  

The way Jimin’s tongue _rolled_ over the word – as if it were a joke, as if he was restraining himself to laugh at the very notion that Jihyuk’s death was anything but a turn of fortune for him.

All of him, every bit of Jungkook was dedicated to saving face at that moment.

Silence draped over the table as the two occupants at the head of it seemed to gauge their reaction. One-by-one, both Yoongi and Jimin took silent stock of them all.

“There are no objections?” Jimin’s right brow arched into his hairline.

After another moment of protracted silence, it fell to Seunghyun, by custom, to speak for him.

Other than their breathing, Seunghyun’s deep, base voice was the only sound.

“None.”

Jimin smiled at the man.

 

 

* * *

 

When it was laid out before him, he wondered if his father’s choices were based off his own amusement. Seunghyun and Jiyong had been fucking around for _years_ – significant others or not, though the gossip-rings had never been able to say if whether it was a steady thing.

Jimin likened them to an old married couple – but stayed out of that fray.

A wise choice, when Seunghyun jealously guarded his privacy.

Chanyeol was involved with both Do Kyungsoo _and_ Byun Baekhyun.

It was a very salacious – but an oh-so common piece of knowledge that the three lived together in a palatial triplex in the financial district.

They’d never made a secret that they slept in the same bed together and shared their personal lives together – and even their professional lives, but they were careful to wear a _certain_ maturity in _certain_ company.

Even if some people would sneer at them, they didn’t have the balls to bring it up to them. It was one thing to do that to _one_ member of the high table, an act of bravery that was unmatched. Doing it to two, and even _three_ – it was better to swallow the pill.

Bitter or not.

If they didn’t want to get over it – _as Chanyeol would put it_ – he’d happily help them build a bridge. The caveat, of course, being that critics would be put _inside_ of it.

Or _over_ it – all three of them had been known to toss bodies into the Han River.

There had been a time when Jimin had been all-too curious about _that_.

His father knew of it too – and allowed it to continue, unabated.

When it came to the possibility of Jimin observing even the slightest detail of their intimate lives though, his father had reigned him in.

Yongbae, Daesung, Little Seunghyun and Jongdae were the consummate images of what the life brought about. Wealth in abundance, women on both arms, and extravagance as a matter of course.

They were the most _conventional_ of this group, if measured to the conventionality that revolved around this group. Those four were men that barely _registered_ on his father’s radar, but people that he wanted to cultivate into more.

Joonie and Jin were together, _though they were both trying to hide it_.

Which left Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook.

Jimin’s eyes narrowed as he laid eyes on the former.

Kim Taehyung, before his father’s death, had been on his mind.

The years had sharpened Park Jihyuk to the realities of what his world bred, and the chief amongst those was that people could, _inherently_ , not be trusted, it was earned.

His father trusted Seunghyun and Jiyong because they had proven themselves time and time again.

He’d learned to trust Chanyeol, Kyungsoo and Baekhyun because the three men were afforded acceptance, luxury, and most importantly, they knew who’d handed it to them. They would remain loyal, _always_ , and be willing to die on any hill to preserve it.

Yongbae, Daesung, Little Seunghyun and Jongdae were grateful for their opportunities, in many ways like Chanyeol, Kyungsoo and Baekhyun were. They wanted more, they wanted to learn, and wanted to stay close to the epicenter.

Despite the efforts of others, they’d never be closer.

Which left Jin, Taehyung and Jungkook.

 _Joon_ protected Jin more than he was aware.

The last two were a mystery, and Jimin was willing to bet that the two were inextricably linked. Jungkook had slipped and miscalculated. He had fallen prey to his youth and ignorance. If the two were plotting against him, he wondered why the two hadn’t stopped to consider the fact that it was absurd to try and recruit Yoongi into it.

They hadn’t been around for his exile, they didn’t _know_.

Jimin fixed Taehyung with an appraising look.

“I hear good things,” Jimin said. “I’m pleased with your work.”

 _That much was true_ , for what it was worth – for a meeting of _posturing_.

Looking at him, taking in the slightly _boxy_ smile, one would assume that Kim Taehyung wouldn’t be suited to be a loan shark. The simple truth was that Taehyung was the most prolific, if not _the_ most prolific, loanshark in the entire world. He’d been the lifeline of countess desperate souls; and the silent investor of many an enterprise.

When crossed, he’d been known to reap furious vengeance on people.

 _That_ had propelled him upwards at escape velocity, and once brought to the attention of his father, his career was forever in the stars, bound to only two people.

In other words, he was a go getter, and Jimin _hated_ go getters.

In his experience, they allowed _pests_ in.

Jimin restrained the urge to regard Jungkook.

Whether or not he was alone in his machinations was _immaterial_ , he’d come to that conclusion at some point after hearing them all speak. It would be useless to aim all sorts of gestures at them. It _irked_ him to no end, but he understood that it was going to get anywhere, he needed to play a more cerebral game with his high table.

“Thank you, sir.” Taehyung nodded once.

 _And so,_ Jimin thought wryly, _last, but certainly least._

“We’ll get to you in just a moment Jungkook,” Jimin smiled off-handedly at the younger man. “I have something that I’d like to get to before we finish our business.”

Jimin made a motion to Yoongi with his hand.

“Many of you will have heard what happened last night?”

They nodded – word traveled fast.

What the events of last night amounted to, in short, was a deceleration of war.

He would, of course, rule out who he could rule out.

Those that he couldn’t rule out, he would scour their operations from the top to the bottom. He would have every detail brought out into the light. When he knew who’d ordered the hit on him, he would _destroy_ them. He would eject them from the business, and then leave them floating in a river, he found himself impartial to _that_ punishment.

The more that he thought about it, the more effort he gave to the thought to it, the more his rage seemed to _grow_ , whereas he thought he could control it all.

_One of them was a traitor._

Jimin felt his rage grow _hot_ , even as the table fell silent.

What they didn’t understand was that it was one thing to sit in the chair and claim that they could maintain the flow of the organization. In many respects, anyone could do that. What it required was a drive, a _will_ — a belief in yourself that was paramount. One that none of these men, not even the older ones, could manage.

This was _his_ table, and they would have to learn that.

When Yoongi emerged from the adjoining room, Jimin saw that he was carrying the rifle. He had resources at his disposal that were expansive enough to silence even the most ardent of traitors. Jimin liked to think that the sight of it sent a shiver of fear down Jungkook, or whoever had joined him. If it did, they restrained it, restrained it expertly behind a mask of indifference that would make anyone marvel at its strength.

It didn’t matter if the rifle wasn’t the make that was used – it was for effect.

“Someone attempted to take my life last night,” Yoongi announced as he gripped the rifle with both hands, and slowly made his way to the other side of the table, _opposite_ Jimin. The older man took a moment’s pause and slid it onto the bare table.

Jimin knew that his placement next to Jungkook was _not_ accident.

“And that’s perfectly _fine_ ,” Yoongi nodded, mainly to himself. “Many people have tried to kill me over the years – it comes with the territory. The issue is that they attempted to kill _Jimin_ too – and they made the mistake of being a rather shitty shot.”

Watching from the other side, silent, Jimin kept his eyes trained squarely on his lover. Yoongi was power, Yoongi was in the heart of his element, and it was _wonderful_.

Jimin watched, pleased, as Yoongi braced himself on the table and leaned _forward_.

“For those of you who are _unfamiliar_ with my methods, who joined this group in my… _absence_ ,” Yoongi said. “I have a particular method in dealing with situations like this, I can tell you know that I’m certain that one of you, possibly more, are involved in this.”

Silence met him, though Jimin hardly expected otherwise.

Yoongi, unfazed, continued. “As soon I, and _Joonie_ , for that matter…”

When Yoongi made a motion for Namjoon, who had so far said _nothing_ , standing at Jimin’s left. Jimin turned to regard the man, and almost snickered at the cheerful smile, and _wave_ , that he sent to the twelve men.

“…find the shooter, and we _will_ find him – make no mistake about that,” He tilted his head slightly, first looking at the faces of the six men on the right, taking in their measure and reactions, and repeating the process on the left. “We will then have a very long conversation, we will find out _how_ he breached our security, and _who_ paid him.”

“And then, Joonie and I are going to find which ever one of you attempted to do this,” Yoongi took a breath, savoring the moment. “Then you, whoever you are, will find yourself learning the _merits of loyalty_ , and the _basics of a coup_ , and then you’ll die, _slowly_.”

* * *

“Yoongi-hyung.”

Pulled out of his thoughts, Yoongi was careful to keep his back trained to the sound of Jungkook’s voice interrupting him on the veranda. He’d expected it, at least in some form. The thing with the guilty was that a lot of them, at least the _habitually_ guilty, couldn’t resist rising to the bait in some form or another. Either that, or he was going to try and explain away certain phone calls, and attempts to lure him back from the wilds.

Yoongi set his glass of brandy on down the obsidian covered railing and turned.

Jungkook looked unsure of himself.

But there were certain tells on the human face that gave true intentions away. It wasn’t something that anyone could control. It was something that existed there without anyone really knowing, it was on his face – even if young Jeon Jungkook couldn’t know.

He was unsure of himself, but he was angry – and he was _determined_.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi nodded. “It’s nice to talk to you, again.”

“Yes,” Jungkook nodded. “I meant to speak to you about our conversation.”

Yoongi cocked his head. “Unfortunate timing, no?”

There it was.

Small traces of that mask breaking, only around the edges. So soft, so nearly imperceptible that it was hard to notice. Yoongi noticed though, he could see that his words were shaking Jungkook, even if the younger man would stubbornly refuse to admit it.

“Unfortunately.”

It was all he said.

Suppressing a chuckle, Yoongi weighed his thoughts over for a moment before holding up a finger and pointing into the foyer. Inside a small circle of his high table members, was _Jimin_. A picture of resplendency, Yoongi was almost sick by the feeling of contentedness that the sight of the man welled up from inside of him.

Almost.

“You see him?” Yoongi asked.

He watched as Jungkook turned back to regard Jimin, and then turned back.

“Yes, sir.” Jungkook nodded.

“It’s my job to watch him, protect him – to understand everything and everyone that could pose a danger to him,” Yoongi’s voice grew fractionally lower. “And to kill everyone that would seek to do that – just something to think about, moving ahead.”

Turning to pick up his glass, he said no more to the younger man.

What more was there left to say?


	4. Chapter 3: Alea Iacta Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The die has been cast.

"Master Jungkook is on his way, sir."

Out of the corner of his eye, Yoongi stirred, but Jimin paid him no direct mind and proceeded to gather his wits.

Downing what was left of his wine in one long sip, he sat his glass down on the table and made a motion for his servant to gather the gift that he had prepared. The magnitude of what he was about to do was _not_ lost on him, but somehow Jimin found himself nonplussed by it. Yoongi had the usual effect of giving him both confidence and comfort that he might not have otherwise had. His lover had already made it clear that he had lured Jungkook into the circle of knowledge. Yoongi already made it clear that he knew and his attempt had not only failed, but backfired. The boy had to know that they _both_ knew, and now it would fall to Jimin to throw down the formal gauntlet of war.

"I'm gonna' split some wood," Yoongi murmured, rising from his seat. 

Jimin turned and raised a brow, "You don't want to be around for this?" 

“I will be," The older man grinned at him. "I just have to get my _axe_." 

His words were flat with menace and undisguised threat, and Jimin felt a shiver go through him at the implication. Truly, there was never another human being that he knew that had the propensity to be as violent _as_ Min Yoongi was. Though he knew him well enough to know that it was a predilection that he'd nursed out of _necessity_ , Yoongi had mastered it and had spared no one in his relentless pursuit of it. It was why he didn't object to Yoongi's methods, and it was why he didn't so much as think twice when he made his excuses. At any rate, he had a fairly good assumption as to why Yoongi was off to do a chore that they both knew that the house staff was paid to do.

As he was left alone, his thoughts turned to his soon to-be guest. 

Jungkook was a glorified upstart. 

He had received his seat at his father's table out of pure favoritism, morso than anything else. It had long been a source of deep insecurity, the fact that his father had taken a certain liking to certain personalities, and elevated them with glee. His father was _fully_ aware of the strange resentment he had towards them, and almost went out of his way to make a show out of it. Jimin always felt that those that he put up, especially in recent years, were somehow his ideal image of his child. Whether or not his father realized _that_ about his resentment, he would never know – what he did know was that the members he elevated did know, and had held it against him with vigor.

They viewed themselves as Jihyuk's spiritual _and_ philosophical heirs. 

While it gnawed at Jimin that those lesser beings were somehow what met with approval in his father's eyes, he knew very well that it irked _them_ that while they were his heirs is spirit, they were not his _legal_ heirs.

They wanted to be _him_ , they wanted to have what he had, they wanted to have the one thing about himself that he couldn't control. 

He was Park Jihyuk's son, and they _hated_ him for it. 

He was Park Jihyuk's son, and there was _nothing_ they could do to change that. 

He was Park Jihyuk's son, and if they were somehow under the impression that he wasn’t as capable of the depth of his father's many deeds, they were completely mistaken.

Blinking as his servant set a black box down before him on the table, he shook himself free of his musings and offered him a murmured thanks before dismissing him.

He supposed that he could undergo the rite without going this route, but he felt it had a sort of poetic irony to it. Jungkook wouldn't _know_ what it was, the significance of the watch itself would be lost on him, _mostly_. 

He had been taught to respect a certain code of warfare.

And in that sole respect, Jungkook might see the gift for what it was, but not the full picture of it. 

The rules of engagement with an enemy were simple, and that was _especially_ true when first blood had been drawn. When this was all over, he intended on burning away whatever endemic rot was left over from the waning years of his father's rule. He would burn every trace of it away, he would destroy them all. At the end of his life, when his successor took control of the organization, there would be no trace of the traitors left to its history.

"Master Jeon Jungkook, sir." 

He looked up from the box and turned to find his guest of honor. 

Jungkook was _cute_ , Jimin supposed. 

In another life, perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of _boredom_ , he might have taken him for his own. If his father had done what he'd sworn to do in the first place and had killed the one man that he was so irrevocably attached to, it might have happened. Had Yoongi been taken away from him forever in this mundane plain of existence, he could see it. He might have been drawn to that sharp jawline, those cheekbones and _adorable_ teeth. 

_Might have._

He had to remind himself that his father had seen something in the boy. To dismiss him as _cute_ was to deprive him of enough of his credit, he was obviously a capable hand.

Jimin did _not_ rise to greet him, and he did _not_ offer him his hand. 

Instead, he nodded in acknowledgement as Jungkook bowed at the waist, and he pointed to the seat directly opposite him. 

"Jungkook," His tone was _artificially_ pleasant. "Please have a seat." 

Jimin had very _purposefully_ advised the boy that he should remain last.

Whenever his father had called these meetings, he would usually end them with face to face, _one on one_ meetings. He had taken the time to chat with all of the members of the high table. Jimin had taken his measure of all of them, as did Yoongi, and while there were certainly others that they would look at, Jungkook was _admittedly_ guilty. He had made the mistake of showing his hand and now he was at the very top of their great shit-list.

He took note of him wiping his palms against his pants before he took his seat. 

Lips pursing in displeasure, he narrowed his eyes. 

"Are you nervous about something?" Jimin cocked his head. 

Inwardly, he was feeling rather vindictive over this turn of events. 

For most of his life, he had put up with his father's insults, with the degradation of his character. By extension, he had dealt with many members of the high table that felt _emboldened_ enough to join in on it. He took extreme pleasure that they had come to heel. It might have been patently false, but they both knew it was a real _humiliation_. 

"Yes, sir." Jungkook nodded. 

Jimin's brow rose, "Unburden yourself to me, I'm a captive audience." 

He kept his eyes trained on Jungkook, watching for the slightest shift in body language.

He gave him all the credit in the world to find him virtually unmoved. 

"Yoongi-hyung, he might have misinterpreted something that I might have said to him." 

Jimin blinked and did his best to keep his composure. 

What the boy apparently hadn't considered was that Jimin was more than aware of it himself. He thought back to Jungkook's beginnings, and remembered that when Yoongi was last with them, Jungkook _hadn't_ been in the inner-circle. Members of the high table, their families, their servants, their underlings, that constituted the inner-circle and all of them knew very well that Min Yoongi's reputation was thoroughly earned. Furthermore, they knew of the relationship between himself and Yoongi, and knew how close they were. All of them were aware that what went into Yoongi's ear found its way to Jimin. 

And vice-versa. 

His age was showing, his upstart nature was showing, and it was all so _disgusting_. 

"You'll have to forgive his attitude, my friend," Jimin shrugged, very purposefully skirting around the subject. "You weren't in the inner-circle when Yoongi was last here, right?" 

If he noticed the slight, he wisely said nothing. 

If he noticed the fact that Jimin hadn't addressed his concern, he avoided that too. 

Jungkook shook his head. "No, I was elevated after his exile." 

"Right," Jimin smiled a very real smile at him, his eyes contorting into crescents as he offered the boy a patronizing nod. "Well, he's always been a little protective of me. He always protected me from bullies on the playground, so to speak. I'm not sure how many people in your age group are aware of this, but my departed _Papa_ and I had a contentious relationship, and Yoongi-hyung was always there to comfort me, and let my cry on his shoulder." 

That was a patent _understatement_ if there ever was one. 

His friction with his father had never been a secret. 

The fact that they hated each other, _deeply_ , was one, with only a few people knowing. 

"And that need to protect me from bullies has never quite left him." 

Their moment was interrupted as Jimin's gaze was drawn away from its intense lock on Jungkook, and off to the grassy outcrop just beyond his right shoulder. Standing in the middle of the outcrop was Yoongi. When Jungkook turned to look at him, Jimin privately wondered of the impression that Yoongi made on the young man. Standing there, _shirtless_ , with a series of large cylindrical wooden log blocks at his feet, he looked to be a hell of a sight. It was the large, stainless steel, enormous, wood splitting _axe_ in his hand that stood out the most though.

With a firm grasp on its enormous width, the head of the axe looked as equally big. 

The flat, sharp edge looked big enough to go through a limb.  

The opposite, balled side of it looked like it could cave-in a skull with a single blow. 

Yoongi was eyeing it _appreciatively_ , and openly eyeing Jungkook in between his looks. 

He made no secret that he was threatening Jungkook, and Jungkook did not bother to the hide the fact that he was gawking at Yoongi. Jimin wondered if it was all finally occurring to the boy. He wondered if somewhere, there was some element within him that was befitting the position that he held in life. Maybe, _just_ maybe, there was something within him that was worthy a member of the high table on his own merit. 

Not being able to restrain a small laugh, Jimin stood up from his chair and slowly meandered around the table.

By the time he made it around the table and had seated himself on it next to Jungkook, Yoongi had grasped the axe in both of his hands. He turned in time to watch Yoongi bring it down with a powerful swipe on the first of the poor logs. Jimin was reasonably confident that all three of them were envisioning the log as Jungkook's neck, at least Yoongi would be, of that Jimin would wager easily. 

Jimin turned and glanced down at the boy. 

" _Jungkook_ ," He snapped his fingers. "Are you still with us?" 

"Y-yes sir," Jungkook nodded and then began to shake his head. "As I said, he mig-..." 

Holding up his right index finger, he offered the boy a small wink, "Before we get to all of that, I have something for you, something special, the customary _gift_." 

He turned and waved a hand at the box. 

Jungkook widened his eyes, taking one look back at it and then back at Jimin. 

"Sir?" Jungkook asked. 

"It's _rude_ to not accept gifts," Jimin instructed. "It's yours, please, I insist." 

With a noticeable amount of hesitation, he watched as Jungkook reached forward and pulled the box in.

Jimin kept his gaze locked intently on his eyes as he pried it open. As he'd reflected many times over the past few days, though he loathed his father, he couldn't help but pick up a few of his lessons. His father often believed that it was only polite to declare war with a gift, it was both gentlemanly and sporting. He had consumed ancient customs of simple feathers being accounts of war, or peace. 

Of courage, or cowardice. 

Jimin found a certain poeticism in the art too, so he'd adopted it here. 

He felt a bit of glee as the boy's face took on the look of confusion. He was smart enough to understand that it was not merely a _gift_ yet he was confused enough to not interpret it as a declaration of war. That was perfect, it was what Jimin wanted. If for nothing but a bit of dramatic ceremony, it provided an opportunity to sew a little confusion.  

"Sir?" Jungkook asked. 

"It was my _dear_ Papa's favorite watch," Jimin's eyes glittered with sadism. "I figured since you idolize him so much, so much to the point where you might be plotting against me, it should belong to you. Consider it a parting gift, a final token of my affection. I do suppose how we would define the gift is unclear at the moment, but not for long."

He leaned back over the table, and picked up his wine glass, which had been refilled. 

Taking a small sip, he reveled in the look of shock that was painted on Jungkook's face. 

"Sir, I've been trying-..." Jungkook attempted to say, but Jimin interrupted him again. 

"I suppose I should get to the heart of the matter," Jimin swallowed and held a single finger up again. "The subject of my personal visit with you is this: You are believed to have attempt to initiate a coup against my authority over the organization. The matter is being looked into, and any other suspects are being investigated, but _you_ are at the head of that list. I've given you a personal gift here, in the end, you may wear it as a symbol of survival..." 

Jimin sipped at his wine again and turned to eye Yoongi as he _chopped_ another log. 

"...or, when I've destroyed you, you can be buried with it," He blinked once, looking away from Yoongi and back to Jungkook. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?" 

"Perfectly," Jungkook nodded. 

He didn't say anything more than that, which was both irritating _and_ satisfying. 

"And you would do well to remember this: you're being watched, and by many, _many_ people," Jimin said. "I won't stop you, but if you attempt to leave this city without my permission, I think you’ll find yourself in an inhospitable environment when you return.”

He stopped for a moment and set the glass back down.

“You moved your parents into that penthouse in the financial district when you were elevated, did you not?” Jimin asked him, blinking owlishly, outwardly projecting no sort of threat.

“You don’t have to threaten them,” Jungkook shook his head. “I won’t disobey.”

“I know that,” Jimin hummed. “I’d hate for Yoongi-hyung to have to pay them a visit.”

The threat was clear, it was projected, and in that instance, Jimin no attempt to hide the fact that he would order just that to happen.

Setting his hands down in his lap, he began to pull his thoughts away from the confrontation and began to openly _ogle_ Yoongi.

“You may go,” Jimin dismissed him quietly a few seconds later, as if Jungkook were a mere afterthought. “Security will show you out and remember my advice on obedience.”

With that, Jimin blocked him out entirely.

Though he ignored Jungkook’s exit, Yoongi did not – and Jimin watched the glare that his lover sent the boy’s way.

That same glare had been a trademark of Yoongi throughout his career and it had been a strong portent of doom for many, many lives.

It sent a pleasant shiver down his spine.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small chapter ~~ hope you enjoy it!


End file.
